Peace Like A River: 1. Peace Like A River Ran Through The City

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1. Peace Like A River Ran Through The City

As I rode up river from the Osgiliath garrison to the place where I had watched the water a year ago, I found myself grateful a hundred times for the comfort of the big grey horse who asked no questions, but bore me steadily on.

I had not known when I set out how hard this was going to prove to be. Thankfully, in the end it was not as hard as I had feared. As I rode, my anxiety seemed to fall away, and the woods of Ithilien, bursting into unfettered bloom for the first time in my lifetime, lifted my spirit to blossom as well. I began to feel more secure about the ritual I had envisioned, as though a sense of peace flowed into me from the river where I had discovered him at peace at last.

I found the outcropping where I had been accustomed to perch, and spread my cloak about me, mantling, watching blackbirds sing in the reeds. Anduin, too, sang a new song, a song of reconstruction, a song of restoration. There was still a descant of watchfulness, and a quiet undertone of pain, but the river had become a healer and was doing her best to wash us clean of what we had endured… and of what we had brought upon ourselves.

I settled against the rock, took up my tablet and began to sketch.

I started with the basic designs for the building of my new home in Emyn Arnen. I sketched the designs that Gimli had created for the new gates of the White City. I added a small profile of the ranger who was now king, wearing the ceremonial seabird wings and smiling. One after another, pictures flowed onto the page. They seemed so small, these drawings - and then so big somehow... must be the insecurity of the artist.

Last of all, I drew the tower at sunset, with the white banner of the stewards flying once more, and above it the black banner with the white tree and the stars - just as they had flown together three days ago when the city remembered him as their own.

It was getting dark now, and I took the small candle I had brought, lit it, and set it upon the rock. I took up my small brush and began to write down the side of the page. Tonight, he belonged only to me.

I wrote of peace and change; I wrote of family and friends, news from home and the lands where he had traveled. I wrote of my sorrow at our separation, and of my fearful joy when I saw the serenity on his beautiful face. I admitted to my envy that night, and affirmed that I had found my own path now.

I told him at the end that we missed him, and ended with my love, and a small post-script that had Merry and Pippin known what I was going to do this night, they would certainly have sent theirs, as they remembered him often and fondly.

Then I sat and watched the river dance away toward the sea until the stars began to flourish overhead. I waited for the swordsman to rise, and when I could see his golden belt above the water, I rose as well.

Leaning on the rocks, I folded the letter point to point, then over and down, smiling as I fashioned it into a little boat. I flattened its center, and setting the candle within, I waded into the stream and let it go.

I knew it would not reach the place where his boat had gone, but it would last long enough to carry its flickering light away down the river and around the bend toward Osgiliath. That was enough for me, for now. Anduin would do the rest.

*******AN: This piece was written for the War and Remembrance challenge, but I have come to think of it as part of the river story that began with Breathe.

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

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